


Pink Bullets

by ravenclaw5sos (orphan_account)



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Although they never really hated each other, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Minho and Newt - Freeform, Newt - Freeform, Newt and Minho, The Maze Runner - Freeform, Whoo minewt, love hate relationship, minewt, minho - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ravenclaw5sos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some unexplainable reason, Newt actually enjoyed speaking to the guy. Everything he said was sassy, just beckoning for the blond to make a comeback. Newt had the desire to know more about him. Where did he come from? He'd never even seen him before. Of course, they'd all only been there for a few days. But even then, Newt had met what he'd thought were all the other people there. But, due to the arrival of this man, he realised he was very wrong to believe that. </p><p>Finally, the black-haired boy started to walk away. Before he did, he took the final step to complete the distance between him and Newt. He whispered something in his ear, sending a chill down the blond's spine, his whole body freezing at the warm breath on his skin. His lips touched his earlobe, Newt clenching his fists in silent shock. </p><p>"My names Minho. Nice to meet ya."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gives You Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So this is my first fanfiction published on Archive of our Own and I must admit I'm kinda scared of what people are going to think of this, but I hope all you Minewt shippers like it :) Basically, this is the story of the Minewt relationship that I imagined- I love the idea of Newt and Minho secretly being together and having a love hate relationship where they used to hate each other, but...well, you'll see what happens :) I want to warn everyone that this has attempted suicide in it, and talk of depression and eating disorders. But it gets a lot better, and a lot of the story is happy and fluffy yah :) There will be a part two if this gets positive reviews :) Well anyway, I really hope you enjoy this fanfiction! Please comment what you think and leave kudos if you like it! Love Ravenclaw5sos xx

"Thomas! Minho! It's your turn to collect the wood." The two mentioned men groaned loudly, displaying their annoyance through furious glares and furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you shanks do it?" Minho asked the young woman standing in front of him with her arms crossed and hands on hips, who went by the name of Brenda. 

The girl sighed with exasperation, before replying coldly; "We have done it. All week. And now?" She shoved a battered axe into Minho's muscled arms. "It's your turn." Brenda finished, turning and walking away before the boy could even start his expected protesting. 

Thomas smirked. "Let's just go, yeah?" Minho rolled his eyes. "Aye aye, Captain." As the two boys began making their way towards the dense forest, a journey which would take a good half hour, they started to talk. 

Mainly about Newt. Although it hurt them both, they found it easier when they could turn their traumatised feelings into words. Minho had found out, about Newt. Found out a good few weeks ago. He'd begged Thomas to tell him, pleaded that he needed to know. Sadly for Thomas, Minho's desperate expression and teary eyes won him over, and he confessed everything. The argument. The shouts Newt had thrown at Thomas. The crying, the pure wildness Newt was obeying. The deathly echo of a single gunshot. 

Minho suddenly stopped, beckoning for Thomas to take a seat beside him as he sat down on a rough tree stump. The brunet raised an eyebrow, but did so anyway, fully aware that if Minho wanted to stop moving for once, there had to be a damn good reason. 

The Asian man was gazing into the distance, a peaceful expression on his face. "Gotta tell ya something, Slinthead." Thomas nodded, cueing for Minho to continue. He decided to ignore the casual insult that had been thrown at him. 

Minho was smiling now, probably recalling some cheerful memory from his past. "We were in a relationship." Thomas took a good minute to work out just exactly who Minho was talking about, and another to process the information. When he finally did, his eyes widened, and he drew in a deep breath. 

"W-with Newt?" Thomas asked softly, hardly believing they were talking about this. Minho nodded slowly, eyes fixed on a oaken tree, it's leaves torn and battered. Much like their minds, their lonely hearts. Corrupted by the deaths of their friends, ripped open by the cruelness of the people who put them here. The people who they escaped from. 

Thomas could only stare at his friend, trying to understand, even fully register, what had just been said. "Y-you and Newt. You guys. You-together-" Minho rolled his eyes, before turning to face Thomas, raising his eyebrows. "Yes, shuck face. Is it really that hard to deal with?"

The younger brunet felt like punching Minho, out of confusion and annoyance at the vagueness of his statement. "Yes! I just found out that my two best friends, one of them de-" He stopped himself when he realised what he was about to say. He closed his eyes, before taking a deep breath and opening them slowly. "I just found out that two of my best friends are-were- a couple. You think that's easy to take in?"

Minho smirked. "Nope. But now ya know." His expression softened, and he seemed to gain an understanding of how Thomas felt. "Sorry for springing it on you like this, dude. I just wanted you to know, so we can move on together. Move on from-" Thomas mumbled a hurried "Yeah", cutting the older boy off so he didn't have to hear about that horrible experience once again. 

Now that Thomas had taken the words into account, and gotten over the initial surprise, he found he had a swarm of questions racing round his mind like an out of control train. "When did it start? Wait, were you two together the entire time I was there? Did you break up? How come no one ever saw you guys? Wha-" 

Minho cut him off by holding his hand up, a hint of annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Slow down, Greenie! You sound like some hyper active crank. Look, I'll tell you the whole thing, okay?" Thomas nodded, a little surprised at how eager he was to hear what the boy had to say. 

Minho sighed, cracking his knuckles as he did so. He went back to staring into the distance, and began to speak. 

"Me and Newt didn't really get on to start with. Well, we didn't know each other very well. At the beginning, we just kept ourself to ourself, everyone did. But when us Gladers started actually getting some order going, Newtie and me realised we...basically hated each other." 

"Right, everyone get over here!" It was a new day. And this time, they were going to do it right. No more sitting around and crying, Newt and Alby had decided. No more confusion, no more worrying. It was time to get their asses in gear. 

The few boys in the Glade started to form a small crowd, expressions ranging from relief, that someone had finally decided to do something, to stress, from the whole horrible situation.

Alby and Newt stood on a slight bump in the ground, making them seem powerful, in control. "Okay, guys." Alby started, running a hand over his hair. "We don't know why we're in this place. We don't know where we are. We don't know who put us here. But that doesn't matter. We need to stop blundering around, scared, terrified. We need to start doing stuff! No, we don't know what the shucks going on. But that doesn't mean we can just stop living!"

Newt raised an eyebrow at him. "Shuck?" He whispered. Alby only smiled. "Just some stupid word I made up." He replied quietly. Newt felt a grin form on his face, something that hadn't appeared for a while. 

The whole time Alby had been making his speech, murmurs and mutters of agreement began to rise from the audience. Sparks of hope seemed to glimmer in the Glader's eyes, expressions no longer gloomy and depressed. 

Newt continued the positive talk, hoping he could be as encouraging as his friend. "I say we explore. Find somewhere for us to sleep. I don't know how long we're here for, but until we find a way out, we need somewhere to stay. We send out groups to search around the place, look around those buggin' wall things. We need to get back on our feet!"

Shouts were erupting now, cheers and whoops. But before Newt could carry on, he was stopped by another boy.

The man was Asian, and had a muscly, sturdy body. His hair was jet black, eyes dark and mysterious. He leant against a nearby tree, a smirk playing on his lips. "Who made you the leader?"

Newt looked over at him in surprise, before glancing back at Alby, obviously unsure of what to do. Alby simply shrugged, raising an eyebrow at the newcomer. 

Newt turned towards the black-haired boy, narrowing his eyes. "Well, someone's got to take bloody charge, haven't they?"

The teenager smirked, never taking his eyes off the blond. "Nice accent." He said sarcastically. Newt bit his lip, looking down. The guy was staring at him, and it felt like he was being examined, x-rayed. What the hell was wrong with his own tone of voice, anyway?

Alby continued the speech, whilst Newt hung around next to him, pointedly ignoring the earlier bully. When Alby was finished, and the other boys were sloping off to organise some jobs, Newt marched up to the black-haired kid. 

"Who the bloody hell you think you are?" Newt hissed, suddenly angry at the man for making fun of him in front of a whole bunch of people. 

The other boy chuckled, putting a hand on his hip. "Who the hell you think you are?" Newt had to stop himself from gaping at the other. Instead, he took a step closer to him. "My name's Newt. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't interrupt me while I'm talking to people." 

The boy gave a questioning look to the skinny teenager. "Newt? Seriously? Man, you're shucked up. Weird accent, weird name." Newt shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. This guy was unbelievable. 

They both raised their eyes at the same time, holding eye contact with one another for what felt like forever. Daggers flew between them. The air was full of hatred, yet a strange kind of curiosity. Newt found himself, in a way, wanting to talk more to the boy. Wanting to see how far the other would go. 

For some unexplainable reason, Newt actually enjoyed speaking to the guy. Everything he said was sassy, just beckoning for the blond to make a comeback. Newt had the desire to know more about him. Where did he come from? He'd never even seen him before. Of course, they'd all only been there for a few days. But even then, Newt had met what he'd thought were all the other people there. But, due to the arrival of this man, he realised he was very wrong to believe that. 

Finally, the black-haired boy started to walk away. Before he did, he took the final step to complete the distance between him and Newt. He whispered something in his ear, sending a chill down the blond's spine, his whole body freezing at the warm breath on his skin. His lips touched his earlobe, Newt clenching his fists in silent shock. 

"My names Minho. Nice to meet ya."

"As time went by, our...feelings, or whatever, grew. There was something there, Thomas. As much as we despised each other, we were bonding more and more by the day. I was secretly beginning to like-ya know, like-like- him. I couldn't stop thinking about that guy. Everything about him was just...perfect. Looks, personality...you name it. He was on my mind day and night, for shucks sake. 'Course, I pretended to hate him. What? You think I was just gonna go up to my 'worst enemy' and tell him? 'Oh, hey Newt. So, you know how we're supposed to want to kill each other? Well, I actually want to kiss you till I die from lack of oxygen. Yeah, hope you don't mind.' Nah. I was, like, 99% sure he hated me. So I just acted like that was how I felt towards him, too. But secretly...secretly I was falling in love with him."

Another evening in the Glade. Another starlit, melancholy night where the boys would drink, sing and try to forget about their troubles, just for the few hours before they had to travel to the world of sleep. 

Minho was alone. Eating, thinking. Thinking about the Maze. About the whole shuckness of the situation. About the Grievers. And, of course, about Newt.

That damn boy. Why was he so...magnetic? His eyes so entrancing. Lips so luscious. Hair so delicate. Body so toned. And his personality. Kind, forgiving. Gentle. But if they argued, Newt turned fiery. He seemed to transform from a beautiful creature to a deadly one, harsh and powerful. It only made Minho even more attracted to him, wondering how many layers were inside the blond. Wondering if he felt the same way. 

Minho sighed, standing up. Sitting on a log and staring into the fire was never going to do him any good. He started to walk towards the woods, enjoying the cool atmosphere.

Trees swayed in the wind, a rustling sound echoing around the Glade, bouncing off the walls, like liquid seeping into a huge container. A sudden breeze blew across the Runner's face, causing him to shiver in the mild coolness. 

He was just about to enter the cluster of pines when he stopped. Stared. 

Newt. Newt was standing a little way away from him, on a hill. Shuck, Minho thought. Shucking shuck. 

The boy was shirtless, back tanned and freckled. A few red scars ran down his skin, presumably from past encounters with harmful objects. Hair stood up on his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his body. 

Newt was looking out at the Maze, glints of calmness and curiosity in his coconut eyes. His hair was being attacked by the wind, tossling it this way and that. 

Minho couldn't take his gaze away. The blond looked so vulnerable, yet, in another way, so strong. He wanted to hold him in his arms, hug him. Kiss him. Trace his own lips down that smooth skin. Touch him. Share body heat, be so close it was unreal. He wanted him, wanted him bad.

A split second after Minho experienced all this, Newt turned to look at him. Minho didn't have time to snap his gaze away, so he continued looking at the other. The air was silent, interrupted only by distant laughter from other Gladers. 

"Why were you staring at me?" Newt asked at last, after a minute of this simple quietness. His voice was patient, the tone you'd hear when talking to a therapist. It was like he wasn't angry at Minho for now, just tired. Too tired to try and start another argument. 

Minho hesitated for a second, glancing up at the night sky. "I...I wasn't." Really, Minho? He asked himself in his brain. That's the best thing you got to say?

Newt seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. "Yeah, what a good excuse. Come on, I saw you. What's up?" Minho bit his lip, willing himself to think of an answer. Anything that didn't involve him fantasising about Newt's body would be just fine. Anything. 

"What were you thinking about?" Minho questioned in a hurry. Man, he was totally losing it. Losing his coolness, his sass, his laid back feelings. All because Newt turned him into some nervous wreck. Shuck him. 

Newt, seeming to suspect something was up, raised an eyebrow. But then he smiled, as if he'd just been asked how his day had been. "Just wondering about stuff." Suddenly, he took a few steps towards Minho again. The latter felt his breath hitch, heart leap. The blond was standing only centimetres away, eyes intense, yet sweet. 

Newt stared at him for a few seconds. "Why do you hate me, Minho?" He asked quietly. His voice was deadly soft, a snake hiss. Minho gulped, his mind going crazy when he flicked his eyes over the blond's cold skin, just waiting to be warmed. Warmed by his own lips. But he couldn't do that. He just...he couldn't. 

The black-haired boy averted his gaze, glaring at the ground. He was going to have to lie. It was the only way to shelter his emotions threatening to burst out, overtake all common sense the teenager owned. It didn't matter how he felt. All that mattered was making it clear Minho supposedly despised the other. That way, no one would get confused. No one would get hurt.

But it was going to hurt, wasn't it? It was going to hurt him. His heart. It was going to hurt Newt. A boy so caring, so kind and loving, didn't deserve this. He was so sensitive, too. Oh, shuck, Minho thought. He had to say something. Protect himself. Hide his feelings with a wall of scorn, a makeshift grudge.

"You act like you own everything. You act like you know it all. You think that you're right, all the time. You pretend to be so shuckin' mysterious, even though there's nothing special about you! 'Why were you staring at me, Minho?' Who says I was staring at you? As if I'd ever take the time to torture my eyes into looking at your scrawny body."

This was killing him. He was almost crying, each word like a bullet to his heart, each one reviving it to experience pain more and more. He wanted to scream, wanted to tell Newt that he didn't mean it, that the blond was perfect, amazing, beautiful.

Newt was gazing at Minho, the horrible glints of sadness floating in his eyes, which were dark pools of hurt and dejection.

Minho needed to say more. Had to keep up the game. Ignore the fact that he was damaging the heart of the boy he loved, reject the obvious statement that he was emotionally punching himself in the place where his feelings stayed, pouring a fountain of self-hatred and disgust where his happiness should be. 

"What? You think I actually liked your shuck self? Please, Newt. No one will ever love you." He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He was shaking, a mess. "No one."

Newt only stood for a while, not letting any tears fall. Though it was obvious he was on the very verge of crying. Eyes closed, looking down, betrayal scorched on his face. Betrayal over the fact that he had held trust in Minho. Despite their arguments, their bitter remarks, he trusted him. Maybe because he was smart. Maybe because Minho wanted to escape as much as he did, more than anyone else. But now...he didn't know what to think. 

Eventually, Newt spoke. His voice was so bitter and low-spirited, so torn- like one thousand shreds of pain had been stitched together to make sounds. "Yeah, well." He looked up, putting as much spite into his words as he possibly could. "I don't like you much either. Shank." He abruptly walked off, done for the night. Done with the resentment and anger. 

Minho collapsed onto his knees, sobbing. Not caring about his bad-man attitude. Not caring that people might hear him. He only wanted to let his emotions out, scream until his voice was raw. He wanted to tear the world apart. What world there was out there, anyway. 

He stayed like this for a while. Crying and dry-heaving, yelling harsh words to the night air. But when he was finished, when the words were empty, the tears were only water, he stopped. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the dark sky. Stars shining without a care in the world. If only he could be a star, he thought. Then I wouldn't have to be falling for the guy I'm supposed to hate.

Minho relaxed slightly, spreading his arms out. "I wish I could tell you." He whispered, voice barely audible due to his recent actions. "I don't hate you. I don't. I didn't mean what I said, Newt. Shuck it, shuck it." He let the exhaustion take over, closing his eyes while a final tear fell down his cheek. There was nothing he could do. He was a hopeless victim of heart break. A prisoner to Newt. And the worst thing? The blond didn't even know. 

"But, like I said before, we still argued a shuck of a lot. We just couldn't help it. Sure, the 'hate' I felt towards him was pretend, an act. But the quarrels we had were pretty darn real. I think I encouraged them a bit- everytime we argued, I got to talk to him more. Find out more about him. And when we weren't shouting at each other, calling each other stupid names, my feelings for him came back. And I definitely did not want to think about my stupid, stupd feelings. So I kept at it. Kept provoking him, making him angry. It was the only thing I could do."

"What the shuck is wrong with you?" That was the first thing Minho heard when he jogged through the Maze entrance. It had been another long, tiring day running the darn place. The boy had just sprinted into the last corridor when the doors started closing, startling Minho. He'd barely made it into the Glade as the dreaded things slammed shut behind him. 

And now Newt was standing in his way, blazing fire in his usually calm eyes. Minho leant against the Maze wall, breathing heavily. "What's got your panties in a twist, shank?" 

Newt let out a groan of annoyance. "What's got my- you almost died, Minho!" The mentioned man glanced towards the doors, before smirking slightly. "Oh yeah." Newt could only stare at him. "'Oh yeah?'" The blond hissed. "That's all you got to say?"

Minho rubbed his forehead. "What the shuck you want me to say? Wait, was little Newtie worried about me? Aw...how sweet." He retorted mockingly. Newt threw his hands up in the air, before muttering something under his breath and walking towards the Runner. 

When he was only a few inches from the other boy, he poked him in the chest, hard. "Yes, I was worried about you. Happy? Finally got me to admit it?" Minho chuckled deeply. "Why d'ya care 'bout me? Thought you hated my guts." 

Newt ran a hand through his long, blond hair, eyes flickering with signs of annoyance and exhaustion. "You know I- oh, just go away, Shank." Minho grinned mischievously. Instead of leaving, he folded his arms defiantly. Newt looked at him, shaking his head. "You're such a - look, I don't hate you, alright? Well, not all of me hates you." Minho raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" He asked softly. The blond looked at the sky, as if hoping for a sudden escape into Heaven, before he let his gaze fall back to Minho. "Yeah." 

He turned to walk away, but Minho grabbed him by the wrist. Newt spun around, anger flashing across his face, and Minho gazed back at him. "Not all of me hates you, either." He said hurriedly, as if knowing he could only admit it now, or never. Newt seemed to understand, know the sentence was deeper than it sounded, touching the heart closer than it should. "Good that." He stated as he tugged his hand away, trying desperately not to show how secretly glad he was to hear those words. 

With a final look at Minho, he turned and walked towards the Homestead. The muscled teenager could only watch him go, wondering why he couldn't just keep his damn mouth shut. 

"I guess you already know the next part. Newt started to...change. He started to look miserable all the time. He talked about weird klunk...the afterlife, all that. He didn't smile, didn't laugh. Not much, anyway. No one knew what to do, what to say. He didn't ask for help, didn't tell anyone about the hell he was going through. I wanted to comfort him, but I just...it made me so scared, to see him like that. So I just lost it. Everytime he started to get emotional, I backed off, got someone else to help him. I should've talked to him, told him he'd get better. But I was too selfish, too worried about accidentally showing him how I really felt. I was horrible to him." 

"Hey Minho...can I ask you something?" It was late afternoon, sun shredding some of its last light down on the Gladers. Newt and Minho were taking a break in the Maze, utterly exhausted from running for something like seven hours.

Minho rested his head on the cracked wall. "Just did, idiot." He suddenly smiled, like he wanted to let the other know he meant no harm. "Go ahead." 

Newt copied the other boy, relaxing his body and lying down. They should've been sprinting, taking notes, memorising. But both of them had been jogging extra fast this morning, meaning they had a good ten minutes to rest. 

The blond closed his eyes. "Do you ever think maybe...maybe there's no point? I mean, we're trapped, aren't we? Maybe we'd just...just be better off dead." 

Minho sighed, sensing a wave of dread wash over him. Not this again. 

Newt hadn't been himself lately. They didn't know what it was, any of them. But there was something different. Maybe it was the constant darkness in his eyes. Maybe it was the way his laughs seemed forced, smiles simply painted onto a canvas of hopelessness and despair. 

The blond had broke down a couple of times. Crying half way through the daily quarrel with Minho, to the latter's shock and sadness. Nights where the Asian boy would find Newt staring at the Maze, deep in thought. 

The dark bags under the boy's eyes, the sudden outbursts of anger and immediate apologies, the vagueness, the fact that he didn't seem to care anymore- it all led up to a black world of depression which Newt was stuck in, unable to get out. Demons pulling him down, blocking the young teenager from finding the light. 

Minho was worried. Awfully, terribly, ridiculously worried. Every time he looked at Newt, a new volcano of dread erupted inside him. No one knew how to help the poor kid. And the blond didn't talk to anyone about it. He only spoke matter-of-factly now, as if he forgot his emotions mattered. It was enough to tear Minhos heart apart, stabbing it with a knife of stress and concern, one million oceans of anxiety splashing and roaring inside him. 

The Asian boy rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words. He was terrified of saying something that might provoke the blond into another fit of devastated crying. 

Finally, he murmured softly; "What's got into you, Newt?" Newts head snapped up, and his large chocolate eyes bored into Minhos. The latter felt his stomach drop as he looked into those orbs of true mystery. There was kindness there, selflessness. But the beautiful traits he had were being overtaken by endless days of looking into a hopeless future, killed off by unexpected fury and heart-breaking sorrow.

The blond shrugged his shoulders, furrowing his eyebrows. "Nothing." Minho moved closer to the teenager, sat in front of him whilst staring deeply into his eyes. "That's klunk, and you know it. Why can't you just tell me? You think keeping it inside is gonna do any good for ya?" Minho knew he was sounding harsh now, knew it wouldn't do any good for Newt.

But what else could he say? All he wished was that he could hug the teenager, embrace him and tell him everything would be okay. But they had too much between them for that. Too many tough walls, built up with arguments and fights. Insults and sarcastic remarks. The pretence that the only thing they felt for each other was pure dislike, nothing else. 

Newt was looking down at his fingers, which were apparently a lot more interesting than the current conversation. "I asked you a question, Minho." The black-haired boy looked at him, before sighing and putting his head in his hands. He didn't know how much longer he could take this. How long he could go on listening to the blond's negativity, staying up late worrying about him. How long he could continue watching Newt from a distance, one million feelings rushing through his blood at the sight of his friend, always alone, always distant.

"Okay. Well...no, Newt. Of course there's a point. Of course we wouldn't be better off dead. How can you even think that?" 

The blond frowned, looking over at Minho. "You're just sayin' that, trying to make me feel better. Tell me watcha really think, Min." Minho knew what he really thought. That, despite his constant attempts to encourage everyone, give everyone hope, there really was no way out. But he wouldn't say it. All Newt needed was a tiny shove, one word about giving up, and he'd be gone. He was breaking, Newt was. Fragile, isolated. There was no way Minho could just let him know that he was right, that were was no point. No.

Minho ran a hand through his dirty, dark hair. "Hell, Newt. Why you gotta make everything so difficult? You're dragging yourself down, for shucks sake. You trying to kill yourself?" Oh, man. That was a bad thing to say. Bad. In fact, it was the worst possible thing he could speak of in a situation like this. He leant forward, taking one of Newts hands in his own. He knew he was letting his guard down, that he shouldn't be doing this. But he didn't care. All he needed was for Newt to be okay.

The blond let a tear fall, making the black-haired boys heart shatter. Minho gripped Newt's hand tighter, probably hurting him. "Hey." He said softly. When no reply came from the teenager, Minho reached out, gently touched the side of his face. Newt shook his head slowly, crying properly now. Minho wanted to run away, hide until everything was better. But the Runner needed him, needed him to catch him if he fell, pick him up if he collapsed.

Newt looked up. Eyes bloodshot. Face shallow, haunted. Hair a mess. It only pained Minho more, the terror of seeing the boy like this threatening to take over, turn him into a mass of madness. "Nobody cares." Newt whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. "Nobody."

"Please, Newt. That's not true. You know it's not. Alby cares. Jeff cares. Winston cares. Frypan cares. Clint cares. They all do, every single one of the shanks." Newt glanced up, cocking his head to one side slightly, before smiling. Actually smiling. But it wasn't a cheerful one. It was sad, pitiful. Melancholy. "What about you?" He asked quietly. Minho bit his lip, looking down. "What about me?" He mumbled. He knew where this was going, terrified of answering the question that was surely about to be stated.

When Minho directed his gaze back towards the blond, he saw Newt watching him intently, no trace of a smile on his battered face. "Do you care?" He questioned, voice a ghost, the last breaths of a dying man. The black-haired teenager took in a deep breath, avoiding the other's hard stare. Of course he cared. Of course he did, more than anyone else. He cared so much it tore him to pieces. His mind was a storm of thoughts about Newt. His heart lurched everytime the other boy said anything about his long term sadness. His life was a misery, his days endless and gloomy, all because of Newt. But how could he say that? How could he tell his 'enemy' that he worried so much, was desperate to make the blond happy again? How could he say that he'd do anything, anything at all, just to hear Newt laugh?

Minho sat there, unable to speak, to function. Half of his emotions battled with the other half; part of him wishing he could just say everything he felt, the other part screaming at him that he couldn't, that it would mess everything up. As if everything wasn't already a living nightmare.

He didn't respond, putting his head into his hands. Maybe he could whisk himself away to some paradise, a place full of luscious grass, beautiful landscapes. Kind people, no shuckin' blood-thirsty monsters. Where Newt was happy, cheerful. Where everything was alright. But he was pretty sure no such place would ever exist.

He heard Newt get up, and expected him to leave. Instead, the blond knelt down beside him, long, gorgeous hair tickling his ear. "That's what I thought." Newt whispered, Minho trying desperately hard not to just grab the others face, kiss him, hug him, show him just how much he loved him. The blond was so close, so very close. But, at the same time, so far away. So distant, so cut off from the world. So alone.

Minho gritted his teeth, heart thumping against his ribcage, it felt like it was shaking his very bones. He heard Newt leave, heard his feet kick the odd bits of vines away. He stayed there, head still buried in his rough hands, scarred from days of punching the wall out of anger, frustration. Anger over his feelings for Newt, over how shucky his life really was. And how much worse Newts must be.

Sighing, he stood up, leaning against the wall to steady himself. He knew he would have to leave soon, that otherwise he may be trapped in here for the night. He hated being stuck in the Glade, being so near to Newt. Usually, he would love it, getting to talk to the blond, mess around with him, have (however unfriendly) interesting conversations. As much as the two had an ongoing hatred, at least they used to have some fun with the arguments and petty quarrels. At least they used to laugh together over the random sarcastic jokes. At least they had been able to secretly look forward to each new day, knowing it would contain even more ridiculous fights, amusing comebacks.

But now the other boy was always walking away, sleeping by himself. Things just weren't enjoyable like they used to be. Things weren't the same. Anyway. However much he disliked being in the Glade, it sure beat staying out here, with the lovely Grievers.

Minho sighed, pushed away from the wall. He adjusted his backpack, set off on a fast-paced run. It was the only way to clear his jumbled up mind.

"And next? Next..was the worst day of my life. I've had a lot of pretty shucky days, Thomas. But this was by the far the most horrible, terrifying, life-changing one. Yeah. Suicide day." 

"Minho!" The Asian spun around, annoyed at being disrupted from drawing his daily map. He'd just got back from running the Maze, and was sketching his section, when a voice had called out his name. 

Jeff, the quiet medjack, was standing by the door. But it wasn't his sudden appearance that scared Minho. Nor his crossed arms, harsh tone of voice. It was his expression. A look of dread had been burnt onto his face, worry in his eyes, fear reflecting off his gaze. 

Minho immediately knew something was wrong. From all this, only these subtle signs, he knew. "What's the matter?" He asked quickly, surprised at the unexpected sound of concern in his words. 

"It's Newt." Only a second passed after this short sentence had been said, that Minho was running again. Towards the Homestead. Towards Newt. He didn't know what had happened to the kid, but he needed to be there. Whether he was ill, or had been stung by a griever, Minho would be there. He had to be at the Homestead, that's where Jeff always was- if he'd been anywhere else, someone else would've come to get him. 

Minho reached the battered building, pushing past a couple of yawning Gladers, who glared at him as he sprinted on. He jogged up the creaking stairs, all the anxiety in his stomach instantly taking over any hints of exhaustion threatening to break through. 

He reached the upper corridor and ran straight into Alby. "Oh, Minho." The older boy sighed. Minho looked around him, trying to see any sign of the blond boy he cared about so much. 

"Where's Newt? What happened?" Minho questioned sharply, still glancing around the walls and entrances to rooms. When he returned his line of sight, he was shocked to see the teenager almost crying. Head bent, shaking it slowly. "He-he j-jumped off the wall." 

No. 

No. Please, no. It couldn't be true. Please, don't let it be true. "What? You're joking. Please, please tell me you're joking." Alby snivelled, whispering a hoarse 'no' in response. Minho collapsed against the wall, taking it all in. He'd known things had been bad, but not this bad. Not nearly this bad. 

After a few seconds of letting the shock come over his body, petrify him and freeze his heart, he stood up straight. "Let me see him." He said shortly. It wasn't a request. It was a command. 

Alby raised his hazel eyes, before sighing. "He hasn't woken up yet." Minho experienced a jolt going through his body. What if Newt was...

As if Alby had read his thoughts, he quickly held his hands up. "He's alive. The MedJacks think he might be in a coma, but they don't know. There's nothing we can do at the moment, so they've just left him in there." The leader raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking like he'd just had a huge moment of realisation. "Wait, why are you here? Don't you two hate each other?" 

Minho shrugged, smirking slightly. "I don't hate him. He doesn't hate me. And that's good enough, right? Anyway. Let me see him, ya shank." He tried to throw some playfulness into the words, lighten them up a bit. But inside, he was shaking, convulsing, screaming in pain. What if Newt wouldn't ever be the same? What if he- no, no, it wasn't going to happen. 

Alby nodded, gesturing for Minho to enter the room. "There's no one in there apart from him." Minho felt a squirming sickness inside him, terror of what his friend might look like, might be like. 

As he was about to enter, the other teenager spoke again. "Oh, and Minho?" Minho turned around. "If- I mean, when- he wakes up...he's going to have a limp. Permanently. His legs been damaged, bad." Minho nodded slowly. That would be okay, right? They could deal with that. 

The black-haired teenager gave one last nervous smile to Alby, before walking forward, and pushing open the door. Light hit him, shining through the curtains on the far side of the area. Shadows hung around in the corners, dark and damp. The texture of the walls was mismatched-some brown bits of wood, some black. Some oak, some evergreen. 

Newt was lying on the bed, eyes closed. Minho actually took a step back, surprised at how peaceful he looked. A golden halo of hair, covering his forehead, scruffy and uneven. Tanned skin, freckled and smooth. He seemed so...so untouched. As if he hadn't just tried to shuckin' kill himself. 

Minho grabbed a chair, pulled it towards the bed. He sat down on the piece of furniture, watching the blond carefully. His breathing was even, chest going in and out, to the same speed of Minhos scarred and cut heart. 

He gently took Newts hand, grinning at the warmth of it. It fit so perfectly in his own, like they were supposed to be. Man, there was definitely something wrong with him. Thinking about how they were 'supposed to be', when Newt was possibly dying in front of him. The very thought made Minho lose all traces of amusement, biting his lip in anxiety. 

Minho didn't know how long he sat there for. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. But after a long while of staying in the exact same position, holding Newts hand and hoping against hope that things might actually go his way for once, the blond boy opened his eyes. 

Minho instantly let go of his hand, feeling disgusted with himself for that being his first reaction. But then he smiled at the teenager, who was looking around in confusion. 

"Am...am I dead?" Newt asked, voice barely more than a whisper. He had sat up, chocolate eyes looking intently at Minho. Minho felt so relieved, felt like leaping out of his chair and shouting to the world that Newt was okay. But he kept his place by Newt, still smiling. "Hey. We all know you're going to Heaven when you die. If you were dead, you think I'd be there? Dream on, Newt." 

Newt rolled his eyes, smirking. It felt amazing, to Minho, to see the kid display any signs of happiness. A chuckle. A grin. Even a smirk, like he'd just done, made Minho feel elated inside. 

The blond lay back down on the pillow, sighing. "So I take that as a no." Minho leant down, gazing at Newt. "What the shuck were you thinking? Why on Earth would you just..." He couldn't even say it, the terrible thing that Newt had done. 

Newt shook his head, then turned it to look out the window. "I wanna die. I wanted to die, so I tried to kill myself." Minho winced at the blandness of the statement, that Newt had said it like he was telling Minho about his trip to the mall. "But apparently it didn't work." The teenager finished, grimacing. 

Minho rubbed the side of his face. He felt unreal, like this wasn't happening. He didn't know how to describe it... so much had happened during the past few weeks. So many feelings, so many tears and worries. Now this. He knew things could only get better, but it didn't seem that way. 

"Newt...why did you want to die? I mean-why do you want to die?" Newt snapped his gaze over to Minho, expression blank, unreadable. "There's no escape. We're trapped. We're all gonna die soon anyway." Minho sighed, knowing it was ridiculous for him to expect anything other than negative comments from Newt. That it had been stupid to hope for some humour, some friendly conversation. Which is what he had been doing as he stayed by Newts side, praying to God that he'd wake up. 

He reached out, starting to stroke Newts hair. The gesture seemed to soothe the other teenager, who was watching him with calm eyes. "Not true. We're gonna find a way out, Newtie. We're gonna live, gonna go find a normal life." He knew Newt was listening, knew that he was hanging on every word. 

"You're gonna...gonna get married. Have kids. You'll be happy, Newt." Newt slumped his shoulders, although the hint of a smile was touching his lips. "I don't know how to be happy." He looked up at Minho, flipping some hair out his face. Minho had withdrawn his hand by now, after realising that the action was much too affectionate for the current relationship between the two of them. Although he wasn't quite sure what that was. 

"I'll help you. I'll help you get better, I promise I will." Minho said clearly, putting as much confidence into these words as he could. Because they were true. No matter how hard it was, how difficult, he'd help Newt. He'd talk to him, get the boy to tell him how he was feeling. He'd help the kid realise that life was beautiful. Even though he wasn't feeling it himself right now, he'd do it. 

Newt raised an eyebrow. "How're you going to do that? Last time I checked, you were a sarcastic Runner, not a soothing, kind therapist." Minho laughed, and boy, it felt good to do such a thing. "I'm not a therapist. But you can still talk to me." His voice softened, and he looked down, blushing at saying such deep words. "Any time you need to, just...tell me how you're feeling." 

Newt smiled, causing Minhos heart to leap with joy. "Aw, look who's getting all soppy." He teased. Minho chuckled, loving the fact that he could see the real Newt again; glimpses of him in the way he spoke, the things he did. "Shut it, ya shank." He said jokingly, before turning serious again. "But really...I want to help you, Newt. I'll do anything I can, just let me know. And besides- theres got to be a way out. There's no reason we'd be here to just grow old and die, right?" 

Even as he said these words, he felt his spirits lifting. He saw hope shine in Newts eyes, saw his own statement bring an atmosphere of optimism into the room. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Newt replied, almost cheerfully, before groaning suddenly. "Ah shuck, my leg hurts." He mumbled. 

Minho had totally forgotten how much pain the blond must be in. He wondered whether he should tell him about the limp the other boy was going to have, but decided against it. He didn't want to kill the enthusiastic vibe he'd spread. Newt was lying back down now, wincing whenever he moved. Minho watched him, a strong feeling of love hitting him out of nowhere. "I guess I should leave you to it." He murmured. Newt smiled shyly. "You can stay...if you want." He said, voice soft. 

Minho laughed again, shifting his chair and relaxing. "Fine. But only because you suggested it." He winked, but then wondered if he'd gone to far. He was practically flirting with Newt...but the blond didn't seem to be discouraging it. "Oh, admit it. You want to stay, really." He said, turning on his side to properly face Minho. 

The black-haired boy shrugged. "What happened to us hating each other?" He suddenly asked. It seemed like all hatred had vanished between them, as if it had never been there. "Guess it died when I threw myself off the shucking wall." Newt said bitterly. Minho was surprised by the sudden mood swing, but dismissed it with the knowledge that a few hours ago, Newt had been feeling worse than klunk. He wasn't going to suddenly be all happy, just because Minho had said some shuck about escaping. 

Minho sighed. "You know...I do care. When you asked me if I cared about you, and I didn't reply- you just assumed I didn't give a shuck about you. Well...I do." After a few seconds of silence, Minho glanced up. 

Newt was fast asleep, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Minho smiled, gazing at him. "I love you." He whispered, hoping to death Newt couldn't hear him. He slowly stood up, taking one last glance at Newt before turning away, and walking out of the room. 

It was going to be hard work. It was going to take a while, who knew how long. But the one thing he knew today, was he would help Newt get better. He would. He'd get him to laugh more. Smile more. He'd show the kid that life was worth living. He'd do it if it killed him. 

"Things got better from then on. Newt got better. We still argued, still had times where we looked ready to kill each other. I think that everyone else saw us as pure enemies, ya know? But when we were on our own, we were always laughing, making jokes, having a good time. It's like Newt said- the hatred disappeared the day he tried to kill himself. He was constantly confiding in me, telling me how he felt, how he was doing. I did my best to help him, encourage him. And it worked, I guess." 

"Wake up. Minho. Minho! Wake up, Shank." Minho awoke with a start, body jolting him awake. He opened his eyes, the will to fall back asleep battling against the desire to know who was calling his name. 

Newt stood above him, tears in his eyes. Minho felt the common worry churn inside him, the fear of Newt losing it all over again. Breaking down like he had before. The blond sat down beside him, crossing his legs. Messy hair- some bits shining in the moonlight- fell in his eyes, and he looked down. 

They were outside, in the grass; it was where Minho slept nowadays. The night sky surrounded them, coating the Earth in a black veil of darkness, slight rips where stars shone through. 

Minho rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to be alert, begging his brain to function. "What's the matter, Newtie?" Newt wiped away a few tears, Minho watching him carefully. He was terrified of what the blond might say. What if he wanted to...to die again? What if, instead of getting better like he seemed to be, he was actually just falling down all over again?

Newt sighed, looking up at the sky. "I had a nightmare." He glanced at Minho, who nodded his head, inviting him to carry on. The blond started to pick at a loose thread in his shirt, a habit he had gained recently. 

"There were...there were people. I was alone, in some building. And suddenly, there was all these p-people. They kept yelling at me, telling me I was weak. Telling me I should just die, I should just-" He started crying again, desperately wiping his eyes. Minho edged closer to him, put an arm around him.

Newt took a deep breath, wetness still dampening his cheeks. "They told me everyone hated me. Everyone wished I really had killed myself. That no one cared how I felt, I was so useless. I didn't understand, I was so scared, Minho." 

Minho hugged the blond properly. They'd become a lot more affectionate, recently. Not in front of others, of course. To everyone else, they were enemies. But on their own, they seemed to be getting closer, in a physical way as well as emotional. Minho always found himself standing unnecessarily close to the boy. Newt was always embracing the black-haired teenager, claiming he just needed some support. They tried to ignore the fact that they were touching more than friends should, displaying affection as if they were a couple. Which they were not. Absolutely not. 

Newt relaxed into the hug, laying his head on Minhos shoulder. The latter started to speak, words pouring out of him like a flood of sentences, spurred on by hurt feelings and distressed emotions. "Newt, you have no idea how thankful everyone is that you're okay, you're alive. And you're the most un-useless person on the planet. You're so kind, so caring, so amazing. Deep down, you know everyone cares about you. They do, I do. I promise I do."

The blond smiled, and nodded, muttering an absentminded 'Thankyou.' Minho only grinned in response, though Newt probably couldn't see it from the way he was sitting. "Minho?" Newt asked quietly after a few minutes of silence. 

Minho looked at the teenager. "Yeah?" Newt bit his lip, avoiding the others gaze. "Could I maybe...sleep with you tonight? I-I just don't want the dream again." 

Minho was instantly thrown into a dilemma. Things were bad enough for him as it was. Heart lurching everytime the blond looked at him. Insides dropping everytime they accidentally brushed hands, everytime Newt spontaneously hugged him. Thoughts going haywire everytime he looked into those beautiful, oak eyes. 

If it was like this in daily life, which it was, how much worse would it be if Newt was lying right next to him? Sharing the same body warmth, touching skin, ridiculously close? He'd be a nervous wreck, unable to sleep, butterflies tearing through his insides. 

Newt obviously noticed Minhos hesitation; he hurriedly stood up, stepped backwards. "It's fine, I'll just go sleep by myself, don't worr-" Minho stood up too, deciding that it didn't matter how he felt. It didn't matter if he wouldn't be able to sleep, if he'd be extremely shuckin' tired tomorrow. Newt needed him, he couldn't go back to that nightmare. It was Minhos duty to protect him. He didn't know why, or where that thought had come from, but it was true. 

Minho smiled quickly. "No, stay. You can sleep with me, sure." Relief flashed across Newts face, before hiding itself away, and the usual calm, forward-thinking expression returned. "Okay." He replied. 

They lay down together, Minho pulling the old, ragged blanket he owned over them both. He was unsure of how to position himself, before wrapping an arm round Newts waist, bringing the boy closer to him. He understood this was giving it all away, all their pretence that they hated each other. But, after hearing about Newts horrible dream, the fact that people might say something concerning their relationship with each other, might notice they were getting quite friendly, seemed like a small thing. Like something so insignificant, just a minor problem. 

He told himself to relax, to make his heart slow down so it wasn't rattling his ribcage with all it's pounding. Newts soft hair tickled his chin as he rested his head on the ground. The other boy was so thin, Minho suddenly noticed. He'd always been slim, of course. But now Minho was so close, arm wrapped round his ribcage, he could actually feel the blonds bones. 

It worried him, worried him just like everything else did. If Newt wasn't eating properly, was that a sign? A sign that he was still feeling depressed, still in another world of sadness, hopelessness? 

Minho closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him. But he needed to know, needed to understand why Newt had lost so much weight. He hoped it wasn't a big deal- maybe Newt just didn't eat a lot in general, was naturally skinny. Opening his eyes again, he asked gently; "Hey, Newt?" 

"What?" Newt whispered, sounding exhausted. Minho felt bad for possibly waking Newt from his sleep, even though the blond had done the exact same thing to him not fifteen minutes ago. 

Minho rolled onto his back, staring at the moon. He wondered if people out there, people in the real world, all safe and sound, were looking up at the same sky. If his mum and dad were thinking about him, wishing to a star for him to come home. The thought saddened him, mystified him. It wasn't often he had moments like these- thinking about life in general, how strange it was to even picture a civilised, normal world out there- but when he did have them, it hurt. Caused his mind to collapse, heart to experience rushes of pain. 

He brought himself back to the current universe, falling to earth with a bump. "Why're you so shucking skinny?" Minho questioned. He heard Newt chuckle huskily, a sound that did something to Minho that he didn't really want to acknowledge. Made the butterflies in his stomach do loop the loops, made his skin tingle, as well as other...things. 

Surprisingly, Newt answered properly. Didn't just brush the question aside like he usually did, as if he thought that anything concerning him wasn't important. "I...when I was feeling down, I stopped eating. I don't know why, really. I just felt that there was no point wasting food on myself, when I was so bloody useless." 

The reply shocked Minho, as he realised once again just how bad it had been for Newt. "Man, I'm sorry. I wish I could've helped you..." Newt turned to face him, and Minho looked down at the teenager. 

His chestnut eyes reflected the moonlight, glints of hope, light, in a world of darkness, cinnamon brown. His skin seemed so smooth, so touchable. His lips were a deadly cherry red, and Minho couldn't help but wonder how they'd taste, what Newt would be like to kiss, to make love to. The thoughts scared him- he shouldn't be thinking like this, not when Newt was telling him about his dreadful past, his memories. He mentally shook himself, storing his musings into the backstreet of his mind.

Newt turned to look at the stars too. His gaze was distant, far away. "You are helping me. More than anyone else, Minho. Back then, I...I didn't want help. Didn't think I needed it. But after I tried to-to die, I guess it just hit me. I wanted to get better." He smiled at Minho, the action such a beautiful thing to see. "And now I am." 

Minho grinned back at the blond, wanting to just freeze this moment, make it last forever. Them, talking about the deep stuff, Newt feeling happier than before. "And now you are." He murmured, before yawning. "I've gotta get up early tomorrow. Being a Runner, all that." Newt smirked, raised an eyebrow. "You think I haven't? Being second in command isn't a holiday, ya know." Minho laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Go to sleep, slinthead."

Newt swept some hair off his face, before flashing another award-winning smile at Minho. "Night, Shank." They watched each other for a moment, both wondering how they'd come from hating each other- well, pretending to- to this. Sharing the same bed, sleeping right next to each other. But they both liked it a hell of a lot more now, than before. 

When Minho woke up the next morning, despite having an early rising because he was a Runner, Newt had already gone. 

"So things continued like that for a few weeks. Newt getting happier, me being damn down because, as much as I was glad that he was feelin' alright, I still didn't have the guts to tell him how shuckin' in love with him I was. Until one night..."

"Why did you say you loved me?" Minho looked up, startled. Newt was leaning against a tree, watching him. Minho had been chopping wood, when he'd been interrupted by the blond. 

Minho raised an eyebrow, planting his axe into the ground and leaning on it. "Watcha talkin' 'bout, Newtie?" He ignored the warm glow inside him that appeared everytime he caught sight of Newt, a sunset filled with fireworks in his very body. 

Newt didn't remove his gaze. "The day I tried to kill myself. You told me you loved me." Oh Shuck. Minho groaned. How the hell was he going to explain this one? "I-I thought you were asleep." He said, sweat beading on his forehead as he realised he was shucked. He couldn't avoid this now. Newt had him cornered- literally, as well as in a mental state. The blond was standing in the exact entrance to the path leading back to the Glade. Of course he would. 

Newt smirked. "You didn't answer my question." Minho rubbed the back of his neck. He searched his mind desperately for an answer. He couldn't help but think that this event was similar to the one that had happened a few months back, when he'd been caught staring at Newt. He hadn't been able to worm his way out of that one easily, had to insult Newt and tear himself to pieces on the inside. 

Minho knew he had no other choice but to just run away, unless he fancied being forced to tell Newt he was in love with him. He took a step back, readying himself to bolt through the trees like a wild dog on the loose, running from its frustrated owner.

But before he could move anymore, Newt darted forward, grabbed his wrist. Minho looked at him, insides churning with dread. There was no way Newt was gonna let him go now, not when such a question hung in the air like gloomy fog. 

"Just tell me, Min!" Minho tried to pull away, but Newt had an iron grip. "No." Minho said harshly, voice low, deadly. He hadn't spoken like this towards his friend in a while, so cold and distant. 

Newt furrowed his eyebrows, stepping towards Minho. They were inches apart, Minhos heart was leaping and pounding, mind a blank fuzz. "Tell me." Newt whispered.  
"No." Minho replied, feeling an argument forming. And he was right. 

"Just tell me!"

"Why don't you leave me alone, slinthead!"

"Hey, don't blame this on me. I just wanna know why you told me you loved me. It's not true, is it? You have answer, I know you do." 

"Why don't you stop being all demanding! I ain't gotta tell you anything." 

"Please, Minho! You can lie whenever you like, just tell me this!"

"No."

"Min, tell me!"

"I don't want to!"

"For shucks sake, Minho." "I don't want to!" "Just te-" "ALRIGHT, I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!"

And then, everything went silent. The birds stopped whistling, the wind stopped attacking the trees. You couldn't slice through the tension with a butchers knife, it was so thick.

Newt stared at Minho, hazel eyes filled with shock, and something else. Something warm, something caring. They stood, centimetres apart, watching each other, waiting for someone to move. Something to move. Anything. 

Suddenly, Newt stepped forward, grabbed Minho, kissed him. Newt was kissing him, and Minho was kissing back. His mind was static, the only thoughts were how amazing Newts lips were. The feelings inside him were unexplainable. Butterflies tore through his lungs, legs weak and surely about to collapse any second.

Newts lips were soft, gentle. Fireworks soared and whizzed in Minhos brain. Cherry cola replaced the blood in his body, fizzing up, fast and speedy, soaring round his heart. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, shivers shooting down his spine.

Chocolate, sweet chocolate. Mango, orange, pineapple. The smell of the sea, the experience of seeing the one you love for the first time in a year. A baby's smile. Riding a roller coaster that creates an explosion in your stomach, makes your mind go crazy. 

Those were only a few of the feelings Minho experienced. There were so many more, hidden under layers and layers of desperate love for Newt. 

Eventually, they broke apart, both badly needing oxygen. Minho stepped back shakily, running a hand through his coal-black hair. He was trembling, legs turned to jelly. But for a good reason.

Newt was still standing there, watching Minho closely. They didn't speak for a while, only held eye contact while the world around them turned dark, waved the sun goodbye and said hello to the night.

"How long?" Newt didn't need to specify the question he'd asked to break the dark silence. Minho bit his lip. "Ever since the day I met you." Newt seemed to have the will to smile, maybe proud for getting Minho to finally admit something, but he kept his expression blank. 

The blond walked towards Minho, stopping in front of him. "I love you too." He murmured, causing Minhos mind to scream at him, 'kiss him again!'. He was shocked that Newt had said it, he could barely even take it into account. But he knew his legs wanted to jump, mouth wanted to yell out in happiness.

Instead, Minho stayed where he was, gazing at Newt. "How long?" Minho replied, mimicking what Newt had said a couple of minutes ago. 

"Ever since the day I met you." Newt whispered back, completing the past conversation once again. Minho grinned, looking down. Glancing back up, he cautiously put his hands round Newts waist. "Can I kiss you again?" He questioned quietly. Newt pushed him up against a tree, but not roughly. He smiled then, a smile filled with relief and joy. "You may." 

Minho leant forward, crashing his lips into Newts. The kiss was just as amazing as the first, a whole new universe for Minho to explore. This was the start of something, he knew it.


	2. Stuck on the puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Newt could move away, Minho kissed him, surprising the blond. But Newt soon melted into it, he always did. Every kiss was new, another unimaginable sensation discovered. Sometimes they were warm, loving. Sometimes they were hot and spicy. Sometimes they were magical, sending the two boys into another world. Sometimes they were all three. 
> 
> This one was beautiful. They all were, of course, but there was something about this one. Freshly mown grass; newly planted flowers. Picnics in the summer time, autumn leaves. Newt felt a rush of pure fondness, love for Minho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, thankyou so much for the amazing and lovely comments on the first chapter, they were so sweet and i loved them <3 So heres chapter 2 :) I'm sorry its so short compared to part one, but there is going to be chapter three soon, promise! I really hope you all like it, please leave kudos if you enjoy it and tell me what you thought in the comments section! Bye :) xx

"So...we never really officially got in a relationship. Like, we didn't say 'You want to be my boyfriend?', see. But from that night on, we were 'together'. We never told anyone, left them all to think we still hated each other. Didn't want anyone finding out; it was kinda fun to keep it a secret. And besides, people might turn against us for it. It was just easier to hide the whole thing. So, yeah. Man, Thomas, I loved him so shuckin' much." 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

"You know what you need?" It was evening, twilight time. Newt and Minho were lying on a hill, watching the stars shine bright, the moon glow. The atmosphere was peaceful, so peaceful.

Newt had asked the question, still gazing at the sky. Minho looked over at him, and Newt couldn't help but smile, glancing at his boyfriend. He just looked so amazing bathed in moonlight, so breathtaking. 

His charcoal hair was so sleek, yet dirty at the same time, just like Minho. His eyes reflected the moonlight, full of calmness, for once. Usually he couldn't stay still, but in nights like these, where no one bothered them and they had no worries, he never wanted to move. 

Minho gave a curious-sarcastic type of curious- look to Newt. "No. What do I need?" Newt hid a smirk, before pulling some scissors out of his pocket. Minhos expression was priceless; a mixture of confusion, annoyance and down-right anger. "A haircut." Newt said firmly. 

Minho rolled his eyes, then propped himself up an elbow. "You can talk." He gestured to Newts long, blond hair, touching his shoulders by now. The other teenager only grinned, moving to sit directly in front of Minho. Leaning in, he whispered; "Long hair looks good on me. Not you."

Before Newt could move away, Minho kissed him, surprising the blond. But Newt soon melted into it, he always did. Every kiss was new, another unimaginable sensation discovered. Sometimes they were warm, loving. Sometimes they were hot and spicy. Sometimes they were magical, sending the two boys into another world. Sometimes they were all three. 

This one was beautiful. They all were, of course, but there was something about this one. Freshly mown grass; newly planted flowers. Picnics in the summer time, autumn leaves. Newt felt a rush of pure fondness, love for Minho. 

When they parted, Newt pushed him gently in the chest. "Having a make out session isn't going to stop me giving you a bloody haircut." Minho chuckled, sitting up properly. They'd been through this a few times before- Minho didn't give a damn about his hair being long, Newt wanted to cut it, claiming it tickled him when they slept together. Minho responded with some statement about Newts own lengthy hair. The conversation usually ended with Newt pinning Minho down and cutting his hair anyway. 

The black-haired boy sighed dramatically. "You're gonna do it no matter what, aren't you?" Newt smiled, nodded. "Yeah. No point in protesting." 

Minho suddenly grinned, making Newt wonder what abrupt thought he'd had now. "You know..." Minho began, shifting to be closer to Newt, centimetres from each other. "I don't know if I can deal with you cutting my hair, being so close to me. Your cool skin against mine?" 

Newt laughed in disbelief- of course Minho would use this as an excuse. But Minho didn't stop, obviously enjoying the description, the picture it was creating in his mind. "Your breath in my ear. Your body pressed against my back." He kissed Newt, smirking against his lips. Pulling back, he finished his speech. "Oh, and of course. You won't be able to resist me, not when we'll be so close. Nah, you won't have the willpower to cut my hair without just snogging me halfway through." 

Newt raised an eyebrow, crossing his legs as he did so. "You done?" He asked. Minho beamed at him, way too cheerfully to not be being sarcastic. "Yep." The blond locked eye contact with him, a silent staring contest between the two lovers. Sometimes it was just how they resolved arguments, whoever looked down first lost. Occasionally they couldn't stand it long enough, ended up kissing lustfully. And other times they just burst into laughter, a common event for them both. 

Minhos gaze fell first, cheeks a bright pink. He swore, knowing he'd lost the battle; Newt was going to cut his hair. It wasn't that he didn't like having it cut, more that it meant Newt got the pleasure of doing it. Losing anything, may it be a tiny argument, or a huge fight, was a big thing for Minho. 

Newt jumped up, and went to sit behind Minho, pulling the scissors out his pocket again. But before he started cutting the others hair, he leant forward. "If you don't make a fuss, I might reward you later." He whispered in Minhos ear. The words were enough to make Minho shiver with delight, butterflies making an appearance once again in his stomach. 

He smirked, but refused to meet the blonds gaze. He pretended to be uninterested, picking at a piece of grass and flicking it away. "Well, that depends on what the reward is." He replied in a seductive tone. 

Minho heard Newt chuckle. "I think you know." Minho smiled then, enjoying this moment where they could just be loose with each other, say whatever they wanted. Maybe that was why they went so well together; they connected. If Minho said something dirty, or suggestive, Newt would always respond with a comeback, words even more deep and sexy. If Newt needed comforting, Minho knew what to say. If Minho was angry, which wasn't rare, Newt could always calm him down. They were two pieces of the same puzzle, easily slotting together. 

Minho yawned, as Newt began to do what he'd threatened to do all evening. It wasn't at all uncomfortable. Quite relaxing, actually. "Maybe you were a hairdresser in the real world, Newt." Newt laughed. "Maybe." He responded. 

The blond suddenly stopped the hair-cutting, moving to sit in front of Minho again. Minho looked up, staring into his chocolate eyes. "I love you." Minho smiled again, a wave of affection washing over him. "Just...in case you ever thought I didn't. I do, Minho. I'm totally, ridiculously in love with you and I'll never stop bloody loving you. Okay?" 

Newt kissed Minho then, an explosion of light in Minhos mind. Stars shone before his eyes, but he still kissed back, kissed like it was their last. He pulled back, holding Newts head in his hands. "Okay. I love you too. You know that, don't ya?" 

Newt looked down, blushing. "Yeah." He murmured, before taking his place behind Minho again. And the night went on. 

"We needed each other, Thomas. We were always there for each other, we made each other happy. Wicked could trap us in the middle of a maze filled with flesh-eating monsters, but they couldn't destroy our feelings. We had a pretty damn strong relationship." 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

"Minho. Minho. Minho!" That was just about all Minho heard before someone was jumping on top of him, straddling him with their legs either side of his hips. Newt.

Minho slowly opened his eyes, blinking as sunlight hit him like a laser beam cutting into his pupils. "Urgh. What the Hell you want, Newt? I love you, but not when you're yelling my name at five in the morning." 

Newt rolled his eyes, messy blond hair falling between them, making him look like a playful little puppy. Cute. "Its not five in the morning, idiot. It's seven- I was sent to wake you up. You have to run the maze, remember?" 

Shuck. Minho was so damn tired, after what had happened last night. Wait. What had happened last night? Oh, right. Drinking, singing. Playful fighting, loud cheers and happy conversations. Kissing between him and Newt. Falling into Newts makeshift bed together, tearing off clothes. Touching, moaning, sweet nothings. Heavy breathing, really good feelings. Right. 

"Really? I don't get an excuse, even when it's the 'morning after'?" Newt grinned, absentmindedly playing with a lock of Minhos hair. "Of course not. Maybe we should suggest it, though? 'All Runners have the privilege to have the day off after their first time of sex'. I'm sure that'd go down well with Alby." Minho laughed, feeling that normal flow of passion for his boyfriend that he experienced during times like these. Stupid morning talk, before Minho had to leave. Hugging when he came back, entertaining conversations and loud laughter in the evening, when everyone was relaxed and not paying attention to the loud noises of the Grievers outside, the worries in their messed up lives, the whispers of the wind that they couldn't ignore the evil in the world, the illness and agony, forever. 

"Shut up. Don't you have something to do, like waking other people up, or bossing the MedJacks about?" Newt cocked his head to one side, smiling. "Trying to get rid of me?" He asked, a slight hint of hidden hurt in his voice. He was still sensitive- even after years of Minhos sarcasm, even when he was happy and carefree, even when he seemed strong and brave- he always had that sensitive side, the part of him that got damaged with a simple insult or rude word. 

Minho knew about Newts insecurities and self hatred, was always careful to make it up to him if he said something bad- which was why Minho now leant forward and kissed Newt, liking the tiredness of the action, the sleepy movement and half closed eyes. Leaning back, he yawned, forcing himself to properly wake up. It was just another day of running, of map making, of chasing the wild hope that maybe they could find an escape. It might seem pointless to anyone else, but not to him. Because he had something that no one else had. He had love. He had a friend, a boyfriend, a soulmate. He had Newt. 

"Now comes your part, Thomas. Believe it or not, I was actually sort of jealous of you- before you came along, Newt had been desperate to spend all his free time with me. But when you popped up outta that ground, Newt decided to take you under his wing, and give you the privilege of his attention. And, man, I got pretty damn mad." 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Minho watched from a little way away as Thomas and Newt talked enthusiastically about something or another. He really didn't care- nope, not at all. He was cool, laid back, talk-to-the-hand-'cause-the-face-ain't-listening Minho, not some clingy, whiney boyfriend. It didn't bother him that his boyfriend was spending all of his time with that Newbie and not him. Why should it? No, he wasn't jealous. Not at all. 

Okay, well...maybe he was a little bit. Just a little bit. Which was why, later that evening, when the fire was roaring and everyone was busy eating, Minho pulled Newt aside, asked him to come on a walk to the woods. 

"You're spending a lot of time with Greenie." Minho said matter of factly once they'd reached the border of the oaks, leaves rustling and dancing around their feet. 

Newt narrowed his eyebrows, immediately sensing the point Minho planned on making. Kicking at the dirt with his heel, he nodded. "Yeah...I am." When Minho didn't reply, only watched Newt apprehensively, Newt glanced up. "What, is there a problem?" 

Minho shrugged, avoiding Newts x ray eyes, Newts eyes that always seemed to see right into his captivated heart. "Well, I just thought you'd want to spend time with your boyfriend, seeing as you're supposed to love me and all that." 

Newt stayed quiet, before sighing. "Okay." He started to walk away, causing Minho to grab onto his wrist as a reflex action. "Where're you going?" Newt glared at Minho, pulling his wrist away harshly. 

"Look, Min. You're obviously jealous, okay? But, please, I don't want an argument. Just...take your jealousy somewhere else." The runner raised an eyebrow, signalling to Newt that he wasn't letting this go. He couldn't. 

Newt groaned and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, biting his lip. "Minho, I don't know how else I can say this, so I'm just going to say it. I love you. I don't love Thomas. Or Alby. Or Winston, Gally, any of them. Well, of course I love them as friends. But you'll always be mine." He stroked Minhos cheek softly. "My Minho." He added with a smile, blushing slightly. And, of course, as Newts smile was just so damn contagious, Minho had to grin too.

"I'm sorry for not spending much time with you recently, okay? But there's so much to do, and Thomas is...there's something different about him. He has this strong, strong urge to be a runner. I don't know why, but he does, and he's different. He's brave, he's confident. He has hope. And we need all the hope we can get round here- that's why I like him. But it'll always be you, Minho. He's just a friend, okay?" 

Minho nodded, smiling slightly. "You're hotter than him, anyway." Newt said as an afterthought with a giggle, making Minho laugh. "Thanks, Newt." He murmured. "I'm sorry for being so protective...I just...I can't bare the thought of losing you." Newts expression softened, moonlight shining on the passion in his eyes, the coconut cream of adoration and love. "You won't. I promise I'll never leave you."


	3. Get Down On Your Knees And Tell Me You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Newt." Minho murmured, clenching his fists and letting an outrageously lust filled, needy moan escape his lips, lips that needed to be kissed, lips that were dying for a whisper of Newts tongue. "Kiss me, damn it, Newt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :) So here is the third chapter for Pink Bullets- I'd like to warn you it contains smut, so if you don't like that sort of the thing, this isn't a chapter you need to read, as it's not massively important to the story line :) I hope it's okay and you all like it! xx

"After that, there's not much to say till The Scorch. We stayed together, stayed strong. Through the Griever attacks, through the escape, through getting rescued and all of The Scorch, we never got too scared, never too stressed, to break up. I needed him so much through those times, and he knew it. I like to think he needed me too."

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It was late at night, very late. Stars absentmindedly glimmered in the drop dead black sky- it looked black, at least. Maybe it was indigo...or brown. Or grey? 

Minho shook himself; all the heat from The Scorch must be going to his head, resulting in him thinking stupid things like 'What colour is the sky?' 

Yawning, he looked around. Thomas was asleep, as was Frypan, and the others. Only Newt was still awake, staring out across the fragile desert, bare backed and cross legged. 

Minho moved over to him, sitting down and pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arm round Newts skinny shoulder. "Hi." Minho whispered, warmth radiating from Newts skin onto his own. It felt nice. It felt good. 

"Hey." Newt replied, glancing over at Minho and smiling. He watched him for a couple of seconds, before returning his gaze to the world outside. "It's odd, isn't it?" Minho shot a questioning look to Newt, raising his eyebrows. "I mean...we always wanted to get out the Maze, see the outside world. But, if I'm honest...I miss the Glade. I miss the fires and the drunk talk, the Newbies and the nice smell of trees. Hell, half of me misses the shucking Grievers." 

Minho nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. He'd always been so desperate to get out of the damn place. But now, now they'd seen what the real world was like...he didn't know what he wanted anymore. 

Newt sighed, laying his head on Minhos shoulder. It was a cute, simple gesture, one that sent waves of strong passion round Minhos body. "How are you, Newt? We haven't had a proper conversation in ages...so much has happened." Newt smiled again, closing his eyes as he yawned. "Okay, I think. I don't feel hopeless anymore, or too sad. But I...I get scared, Minho. What are we doing- what's going to happen? We can't trust Wicked, can we?"

Minho grimaced, tracing circles on Newts back with his fingers, knowing exactly what Newt was feeling, knowing the uncertainty and doubt, the fear of the future, the deep, dark terror. "Maybe we can. Maybe they're telling the truth, they do have a safe place to take us. But if they're lying, we'll run away. All of us. You, Thomas, Frypan, Aris, everyone. We'll make a safe place, far away from the Cranks and Wicked, from the Flare." 

Newt chuckled, voice slightly cracked and raspy due to lack of water. "The Cranks are everywhere, we can't run." But Minho heard the hope in his voice, the hint of light in a drunk shadow, the glimmer in the distance, and he clung onto it like a life boat. "How do you know? We haven't explored the world, there might be places where there's only immunes. Normal life, civilisation, jobs. We'll get married!" 

This time, Newt groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you, there's no way I'm marrying you. You'd be so messy in a house, leaving underwear everywhere, losing your keys, never making the be-" But he didn't get further than that before Minho had him pinned to the ground, holding his hands above his head. "What, you don't love me?" He asked, a smirk playing on his cut, chapped lips. 

Newt giggled, not bothering to struggle against his boyfriends iron grip. "Of course I love you, slinthead. But I'm just saying, if we ever get to civilisation, you have to be a tidy person. I'm only sharing a house with you if you promise to clean the bloody place." Minho narrowed his eyes, still keeping a firm hold on Newts wrists. 

"Oh, come on. You'd never be able to last a night away from me, not with how horny yo-" 

But now it was Minhos turn to be thrown against the ground, Newt straddling him with a triumphant expression. "Don't you dare mention my sexual frustration." He whispered harshly, making Minho grin, face full of that stupid love struck expression that he could never control. 

Leaning down, Newt laid a kiss on Minhos lips, before moving down, ghosting his mouth over the others jawline, neck, shoulder, collarbone. Minho shivered, moaned- he always lost control in Newts presence, especially when the other boy touched him like this. 

"Newt." Minho murmured, clenching his fists and letting an outrageously lust filled, needy moan escape his lips, lips that needed to be kissed, lips that were dying for a whisper of Newts tongue. "Kiss me, damn it, Newt." 

And Newt did. He stopped the teasing, stopped deliberately avoiding the one place Minho needed Newts touch the most, and gave him a powerful, romantic, passionate kiss. Minho opened his mouth slightly, gripping onto Newts hair, pulling it slightly, sending shivers and jolts down Newts spine. Minho felt so...so exhilarated, on top of the world. He felt like Newt and him were in their own universe of love, simple, pure, harmless love. He could kiss Newt forever; he would, if they didn't have to hide their relationship from everyone else.

Newt suddenly ground down on Minho, with no warning, except a cunning smirk on his luscious, rose red lips. As a result, Minho gasped, running fingers down Newts back, sure to leave scratches- but that didn't matter, nothing mattered, nothing but the undeniable, overtaking desire for Newt, for Newt on him, in him. He needed Newts love, needed so much more than what the blond was giving him now. He knew what Newt could do, he remembered the touches and whispers, the moans and kisses, the raspy words and lust filled eyes. Hell yeah, he wanted that.

Newt knew exactly what Minho wanted, it was what he wanted to- so, why hold back? He could tease and play another time, right now he just wanted love. 

And when it was over, when they'd had the erections and muffled name calling, the sweatiness and clenched fists, the highs and smiles, they curled up into each others arms, gripping on tightly. And when the other boys found them in the morning, fast asleep, limbs all tangled together, they only smiled, said they'd been too cold, too lonely. Because, well, the others didn't need to know. No one else needed to know.


	4. Jet Black Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But...they'll find a cure, right? You're not going to die, don't be stupid- they'll give you the cure before you get to that stage!" Newt watched his boyfriend with sad, teary eyes, pitying him. Minho didn't understand. "No, Minho. They won't. And that's why we have to break up." 
> 
> For a few seconds, there was just silence. Nothing, not a word, no bed creaks or snoring boys. The world seemed to freeze, trap them in that moment of absolute terror, heartbreak, torture. They had been wrapped up in time, twisted and turned in the clocks loose wires until they couldn't move at all, simply sit and endure the pain. 
> 
> Then it crashed back in, and everything became reality again. There was the sleep infested mumbles of Thomas, clunk of machines in other rooms, distant talk of WICKED scientists. 
> 
> "What did you say?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai everyone! So this chapter is very angsty, and not at all fluffy, I'm sorry if it makes you sad :( I'm nearing the end of this fanfiction, I think there will be two or three more chapters? I'm not too sure yet :) Also, I'd just like to add a warning that there is a swear word in this chapter, just in case you don't like that kinda stuff :) Anyway, hope you enjoy reading it! xx

"Okay. So...prepare yourself, Thomas. This parts pretty damn sad- well, you know what happens now, don't ya? Fast forward to all the Wicked business, we find out Newties infected. I can remember when he first started acting odd towards me- like he was scared, like he wanted to stop our entire relationship. I knew he had the flare, but I never realised just how...I thought they'd find a cure, I had this stupid idea that it didn't matter. I thought he'd get healed soon enough, I didn't realise it affected him the way it did." 

"Hey, babe." It was evening, everyone else was asleep in their room. They had beds, actual beds! Warm mattresses, comfy duvets- but something wasn't right. Thomas, Minho and Newt knew it. They planned to run away, to escape, to defy this horrific evil that dominated their messed up lives. But, for now- at least, for tonight, they had to stay put in their dingy shared bedroom that Wicked had forced them into.

Newt had woken Minho up, obviously needing to talk about something- his eyes were wide and afraid, teeth biting his lip anxiously, hair all tussled and messy from where he'd been running his hands through it. All these were signs that Newt was nervous, had been fretting over something much more than necessary. Minho had known him long enough to see in the blink of an eye when something was wrong. 

"Hey." Newt replied, voice shaky and unstable. He was sitting cross legged on Minhos bed, the black haired boy facing him with a confused, sleepy expression. "Look, Minho...we- um, we need to talk." 

Minho nodded slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Newt. Yep, something was definitely wrong. The blond kept looking down, avoiding eye contact, playing with a loose thread in his t shirt. Minho lifted out a hand, gently lifting Newts chin up with a soft finger. "Okay?" Minho questioned in a quite murmur, inviting Newt to go on with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Newt took a deep breath, seemingly at a lost for words. He gulped, shaking slightly. "Min, I... I'm dangerous to you now. It's not the same, it's- I'm going to go crazy, Minho." The addressed boy furrowed his eyebrows. The Flare- of course. It had been announced that Newt, the kindest, most caring person he knew, had the most sickening, repulsing disease to revolve around the ruined world. But he didn't understand- he just couldn't quite take it in. 

"But...they'll find a cure, right? You're not going to die, don't be stupid- they'll give you the cure before you get to that stage!" Newt watched his boyfriend with sad, teary eyes, pitying him. Minho didn't understand. "No, Minho. They won't. And that's why we have to break up." 

For a few seconds, there was just silence. Nothing, not a word, no bed creaks or snoring boys. The world seemed to freeze, trap them in that moment of absolute terror, heartbreak, torture. They had been wrapped up in time, twisted and turned in the clocks loose wires until they couldn't move at all, simply sit and endure the pain. 

Then it crashed back in, and everything became reality again. There was the sleep infested mumbles of Thomas, clunk of machines in other rooms, distant talk of WICKED scientists. 

"What did you say?" 

Newt was close to crying, Minho could see the crystallised tears forming in the tear ducts of those beautiful chocolate eyes. Newt shouldn't be crying- he was the one who had said it first. Minho was the victim here, he had to watch his lover become a prisoner of the cold, dead hands of insanity, he had to hear those horrible words fall from his innocent mouth which would never say a bad thing, never intend to hurt anyone. 

Minho suddenly grabbed Newts shoulders, grabbing his attention like a little kid would grab their favourite toy. "We don't have to break up. We love each other, remember? I love you, Newt, okay?" No reply. Just crying, the sound of short gasps and more waterfalls coming from those big, coconut orbs. 

So, Minho did the only thing he could do to distract Newt from his unforgiving misery- he kissed him. Smashed his lips into the blonds, desperately threading his fingers through the golden strands of hair falling onto his shoulders, melting into the feelings of passion, comfort, love. 

Breaking apart, Minho searched deeply into Newts eyes, looking for...for what? A joke? A short giggle and a 'just kidding, I'd never break up with you'. A statement that this was all a dream, that Minho would wake up and be safe in the Glade, in Newts soft hold? Who was he kidding- this was reality. Real. Everything was real. 

Newt gulped, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, Minho." The black haired boy raised his eyes, before gently reaching forward and grabbing Newts hand. "But...but we..." Newt was shaking his head, anger seeping into his usually gentle and warm expression. 

"I'm unsafe, Minho! Can't you see? I love you, of course I do, but I don't want you to see me when I turn shuckin' mad!" Minho furrowed his eyebrows, letting go of Newts hand. "Who said you get to make the decisions? What if I don't want to break up, what if I want to stick with you until the very end?"

Newt was crying again, frustration and anger and sadness and numbness mixed up into tears. "Don't you see? There won't be an 'end'. It'll go on, I'll get worse and worse, I won't be me when I finally get to die! You're so narrow minded, you know that?" He was getting louder, hurried whispers turning into low talking, going up the road of a full blown screaming match. 

Minho wanted to die. Well, not die, exactly- just stop all this. Go back in time, back to that beautiful, pure period of happiness, when it was just Newt and him, together in the Glade. None of this illness shit, none of these mad people, no proper fear. 

But dreams don't always come true.


	5. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God." Newt was starting to panic, his breath coming in short, unsteady gasps, eyes wide and confused. The blond was leaning away from Minho, seeming to be scared of the black haired boy, or maybe scared of what he'd just done. He gulped, then turned away, closing his eyes as he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So here is the next chapter of the fanfiction, Im sorry that this one is quite sad :( But the one after is happier, promise ;) Please leave kudos or a comment-or both if thats your style ;)- if you like the fanfiction,it means so much :) Byee xx

Minho ran a hand through his already-messy hair, watching Newt as he wiped tears away from his beautiful, hazel eyes. How did they end up this way? From hating each other, starting playful arguments and shooting teasing insults, to being friends, supportive of each other in their darkest days, to lovers, calm and devoted and happy. And then, to this. To this pool of emotions, full of poison and tears, powdered good mixed with spoonfuls of evil, treachery and torture.   
Newt had always known best, always been the sensible one who thought things through, who balanced out all the points and tried to make a decision that would benefit everyone. Maybe Newt knew what he was talking about; he was the one of the Flare, after all.  
Maybe he was right.

"Newt, I...but you've still got ages left! Can't we be together until you start to go crazy, at least?"

And maybe that was it. The final straw, the last protest, the strike of the math to the dynamite. Minho didn't know what he had said wrong- maybe it was the stress, the impact the argument was having on Newt, the build up of everything that had gone wrong recently. 

But whatever it was, it caused Newt to reach out with one of his slightly tanned, soft hands, and slap Minho.  
Hard.

For a moment, Minho only stared at Newt. He didn't feel the pain, nor properly see the tears spring once more from Newts eyes, nor the flush of his cheeks. No, all he saw was the hurt there. The disbelief that he'd just hit his lover, his best friend, his soul mate. The frustration that he'd gained from arguing, and the looming depression that clung around his future like black slime, unwanted and untreatable. 

"Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God." Newt was starting to panic, his breath coming in short, unsteady gasps, eyes wide and confused. The blond was leaning away from Minho, seeming to be scared of the black haired boy, or maybe scared of what he'd just done. He gulped, then turned away, closing his eyes as he did so. 

Minho wasn't angry- how could he be? He didn't feel shocked, or surprised, really. The blond had never so much as laid a finger on Minho, at least not to do harm; the rage must have been forming in him for some time now, with the amount of pressure laid on his fragile shoulders. He could hardly be blamed for needing to take it out on someone. "Newt, hey. Hey." Newt opened his eyes again, fixing them on Minho, pulling his knees tightly up to his chest and enveloping his arms round them.

Minho shifted closer to the poor kid, and wrapped his muscular arms around his fragile form. Newt leaned into his familiar touch, resting his head on Minhos shoulder, shaking and sobbing. Minho rubbed his hand absentmindedly down his back, tracing circles with trembling fingers. "Its okay. Calm down, Newt. Calm down."

And eventually, Newt did calm down. He pulled back from the steady grip, the safety and security, of Minho's hold, and smiled at his boyfriend, although the curve of his lips was shy and nervous, like he wasn't sure if he had permission to express even a hint of happiness. "Are you okay?" Minho asked, voice gentle, caring. Newt nodded, biting his lip, looking hesitant to speak. "I-I'm sorry." He choked out after a couple of silent seconds. Minho raised an eyebrow, cockiness and sarcastic personality leaking back into his damaged soul. "What for, breakin' up with me, or hitting me?" Newt flinched, furrowing his eyebrows, opening his mouth, then closing it again. "Minho...don't." 

"No, Newt! I need to know where we are. Are we finished? Yeah? 'Cause obviously you think that's best." Minho didn't know where this irritation had come from, but he had to know. Had to know if this was their last night, if Newt knew what he was talking about, if he was thinking straight. "Yeah, I do. Don't you go guilt tripping me, Minho. You know I love you, you know it's always been about you. You have to let me go."


	6. Wrapped around your finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want a picture," Minho replied, running hands down Newts sides, landing at the waistband of his jeans. "I just want you. This night, this moment, to stay in my memory forever. The way you make me feel, the things I feel for you, the look in your eyes right now. All of it, I want that to last for as long as possible." Newt cocked his head to the side, eyes bright and affectionate. "That was actually quite sweet, Min."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, here's the next chapter :) I'm sorry its quite short, but I hope the fluff/smut makes up for it :) Hope you like it xx

It was all real. This wasn't some torturous, ghastly, blood-chilling nightmare. This was reality. Tomorrow, he wouldn't have Newt the way he did right now. "Can- can I kiss you, then? One more time." Newt nodded, letting Minho lean in, place his rough lips on Newt's warm, soft ones. Newt wrapped one of his arms round Minhos waist, the other going up to tangle itself in Minhos smooth, velvety hair. The blond smiled into the kiss, and maybe it was genuine, maybe he was happy, if only for now at least; Minho hoped so, he needed something other than this murky, bleak pain in his chest. He tenderly pushed Newt down on the bed, straddling him and deepening the kiss, slipping in his tongue into the other boys mouth. Newt pulled away from Minho, only to trail light, dainty kisses down his hot neck, simultaneously pulling on the other boy's jet black t shirt, which had been clinging to his heavily toned stomach. Minho quickly leant back and pulled off his shirt, before holding a hand to Newts chest, where he'd been about to reach forward and undo his boyfriends zipper of his torn jeans. "Are you sure, Newt? I don't want a night of orgasms and erections to be my las memory of you as my...my boyfriend, ya know?" Newt blushed, looking down and smiling. He raised his head again, before whispering, "We'll take it slow. Love, not sex." 

Minho nodded slowly, Newts words sending a pleasant shiver down his shirtless back. "Okay." He smirked, before raising an eyebrow at Newt, eyes darting to his shirt then back to his innocent chocolate eyes. "Plan on taking that off?" He asked in a silky murmur, causing Newt to grin. "Why don't you do it for me?" 

Minho smiled, gripping the lower hems of Newts shirt and tugging it up, over his head. Newt helped him, pushing it off, leaving his hair messy and ridiculously cute. Minho sat back, simply admiring the boy in front of him for a second. His striking, golden locks, which were long now, tickling his bronzed shoulders, falling in his eyes if he didn't care to brush them away. His large eyes- Minho could talk about Newts eyes for hours and never get bored. The way they seemed to pierce his soul, yet, at the same time, entice Minho to speak his mind, confess his feelings, pour his heart out. Coconuts, the type of chocolate that made you salivate, the lovely hazel colour that leaves turn in the Autumn- all these things, Minho could see in the deep depths of Newts eyes. 

And then, there was his body. His slim, yet not too thin, torso, which didn't have a single blemish on it. His collarbone, a section of it slightly purple, pretty purple, from night time activities that had occurred a few days ago. Everything about Newt was absolutely beautiful, every inch of him gorgeous and picturesque. "Take a photo, it'll last longer." Newt whispered, smiling despite of the argument they'd had less than fifteen minutes ago. "I don't want a picture," Minho replied, running hands down Newts sides, landing at the waistband of his jeans. "I just want you. This night, this moment, to stay in my memory forever. The way you make me feel, the things I feel for you, the look in your eyes right now. All of it, I want that to last for as long as possible." Newt cocked his head to the side, eyes bright and affectionate. "That was actually quite sweet, Min." Minho grinned, he felt like his heart was going to explode with the amount of love he felt for the boy in front of him. He couldn't put it into words, he couldn't even process it into his own mind.  
Minho quietly undid the zipper of Newts tatty jeans, kissing down his soft thighs, leaving marks all over them. Marks that indicated Newt was his. His, all his, no one else's. Newt sighed contentedly, letting Minho remove his boxers, letting him take over. Letting Minho love him, for the last time in his train wreck of a life.


	7. Close As Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is there... anything I can do to help?" Newt eyed him wearily, before shrugging again and letting a smirk slide onto his lips. "Yeah, a blowjob would be great, thanks." His words dripped with sarcasm, seeming to seep into Minho's blood, cutting through his veins and overflowing into his heart. Minho sighed, not liking this new side to Newt. This rude, on edge, cruel, damaged side. It wasn't him, Minho had to remind himself every day, every time he saw Newt. Just the mood created by The Flare. Not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai :) So Here is the second to last chapter :'( I hope this ones okay! x

"That night was the last time I talked to Newt as my boyfriend. The last time I touched him like a lover, and kissed him. Things just went downhill from there, his disease got worse every single day- well, you know all about that, don't ya? You saw the way we argued, you know it never would've worked out once Newt got The Flare. The last time I spoke to him before the Flare really started to get to him, we argued again. I wish it hadn't ended like that, but I can't go back in time, Thomas."

Minho yawned, stretching his arms as he stood up from where he'd been lounging on the excuse for a sofa. They were on The Hangar, going to some place to find their friends. He barely knew what was happening any more, barely knew where they were or what the plan was. All he knew was they needed to survive, and get away from Wicked.   
Ever since that night with Newt, the night where they'd argued, broken down, made up and made love, Minho hadn't been the same. Part of him was missing, the part of him that had been filled up with Newt. Or, at least, the knowledge that Newt would always be there for him. After all, the love he had for Newt was stronger than it had ever been, and he had a feeling it would only get more intense the longer he was apart from the blond.

Minho hadn't spoken to Newt since they had that fight, in front of Thomas. Hell, even now it hurt to think of it. The yells, the violence that had flowed between them like electricity. To think that what used to be peaceful, innocent love had been transformed into angry, heated hatred, just because of some disease, it was so...so stupid. It infuriated Minho, made him punch walls and tear at his hair out of frustration. 

Sighing, he started to walk towards where the his bed was, figuring he might as well sleep, since they had absolutely nothing to do on this thing except talk about Wicked, The Flare and other depressing things. As Minho walked, he heard footsteps, and glanced up. Newt was standing in front of him, eyes dark and blank. He looked ill. Skin pale, no longer glowing and seeming to radiate sunshine, body thin and lanky, where it used to be healthy and on the edge of athletic. Hair dishevelled, lips cracked and rough. He was falling apart, every second his life got darker. Minho wanted to help, wanted to tell Newt everything would be okay, hold him in his arms and kiss him like he did all those months ago back in the Glade. 

But instead, he only leant against the wall, smiling half heartedly at the teenager. "Hey." He muttered. Newt glared at him, folding his arms and not returning the smile. "Hey yourself." He replied, although it sounded more like some sort of death threat with the tone of voice he used. Minho decided not to express this thought, otherwise it would probably end up in another argument between them, which was the last thing he wanted. 

"How are ya doing?" Newt shrugged, shoving his hands into his jeans. "Honestly? Shit." Minho's heart wrenched at the reply. He nodded though, not wanting to break down in front of Newt, not when he was hurting this bad. "Is there... anything I can do to help?" Newt eyed him wearily, before shrugging again and letting a smirk slide onto his lips. "Yeah, a blowjob would be great, thanks." His words dripped with sarcasm, seeming to seep into Minho's blood, cutting through his veins and overflowing into his heart. Minho sighed, not liking this new side to Newt. This rude, on edge, cruel, damaged side. It wasn't him, Minho had to remind himself every day, every time he saw Newt. Just the mood created by The Flare. Not him. 

Newt seemed to sense Minho's uneasiness, and rolled his eyes, slumping his shoulders. A flash of his old self seemed to appear in his eyes, remorse and regret overtaking the bitterness. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? You know I can't help this, this...thing that's in me. It's like a beast inside of me, Minho. I can't control it." Minho must've let some of the pity show in his eyes, because, the next second, Newt had the aura of iciness back. "Don't shuckin' pity me. Don't even think about it."   
Minho grimaced, sighing again. "What do you want me to do, Newt? I'm trying my best here. It's not easy for me either, you know." Instead of the expected apology, Newt furrowed his eyebrows, his body tensing. "It's not all about you, shuck face. Do you seriously think I'm annoyed at you? I have a lot of problems right now, Minho, but believe me, you're not top of the list. Not by a long way." And Minho certainly didn't believe that. After everything they'd had together, all the memories and arguments, kisses and hurt, there was no way Newt was able to let it slide. Newt was sensitive, and if Minho, who did his best not to let people into his heart, was feeling this much pain, Newt must be in the fiery pits of Hell, to say the least. 

"Whatever, Newt." Minho sighed, forcing himself into a standing position and beginning to walk away; he couldn't deal with this right now. Or ever, if he was honest. But before he could depart, Newt grabbed his wrist, jerking him back. Minho looked back at the blond, who was watching him with apprehensive eyes. "What?" Minho asked, raising his eyebrows when the blond didn't answer.

Newt looked like what he wanted to say something- maybe something that he would've said when he was his usual self, like a kind word or friendly joke. Maybe an apology. But instead, he just shook his head and loosened his firm grip on Minho's wrist, dropping his arm to his side and spinning around, walking away with his familiar limp, one of the only things that hadn't changed. 

Minho watched him go, watched the way he stopped walking for a second, like he wanted to turn around and run back to Minho, hug him and never let go. But then he just carried on, walking into the main section where Thomas most likely was. Minho sighed, and, turning around, entered the bedroom.   
He missed Newt- the old Newt. He missed his lopsided smile, his ruffled hair, his sweet personality. He missed the way Newt always made the Greenies feel welcome, feel as if they weren't completely alone. He missed the way Newt kissed, missed his touch, missed how he felt inside of him, how when they made love Newt would whisper sweet nothings and look at Minho like he'd hung the stars in the sky- with adoration, affection. He missed the love Newt used to have for him, and he had a feeling he was never going to see that again.


	8. Walk In the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's probably up there, you know." Thomas said suddenly. Minho glanced up at him, and Thomas continued. "Up in Heaven. He'd be wanting us to get over it, get on with our lives. He's happy now, Minho. He's safe." Minho smiled, a true smile- not a sarcastic one, or one that was just there to hide the pain. No, a genuine smile. He believed Thomas, he wanted to believe that Newt was happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai! So, this is the last chapter :( I'd just like to say thankyou so so much to all those who have read this, it meant so much to me to read your comments and see your kudos :) I really hope you liked the fanfiction and enjoyed reading it! Love Ravenclaw5sos xx

"Well, Thomas, that's it. That was the last time I saw him before he went all crank like- the proper last time we met was in that bowling alley place, but he was gone by then, you know he was. Man, that was a lot of talking."

Thomas stared at Minho, mouth agape. "Wait, wait. Wait." Minho chuckled, and looked over at Thomas with a faint smile. "Yeah, it's a lot to take in, right? I've never told our story to anyone, no one else ever found out about us."

Thomas had a lot of questions, but he could only stammer out a couple in his state of shock from what Minho had told him. "Okay, so tell me this. No one ever found out about you two? The entire time you were together, no one saw you kissing, being all affectionate and that? No one?" Minho shook his head, grinning. "We were pretty secretive about it. We only met up at night, when everyone was asleep, or busy getting drunk round the campfire. We made sure not to make too much noise when we wer-" Thomas cut him off by holding his hand up, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Yeah, I get it, thanks." 

Minho smirked and looked down, and Thomas could've sworn he saw the trace on a blush lingering on his cheeks. "So...that's that." Minho said quietly, staring up at the sky. Thomas followed his gaze, and saw he was watching a flock of birds fly underneath the fluffy clouds, creating the illusion of a mass of black paint flooding across a blue canvas. "He's probably up there, you know." Thomas said suddenly. Minho glanced up at him, and Thomas continued. "Up in Heaven. He'd be wanting us to get over it, get on with our lives. He's happy now, Minho. He's safe." Minho smiled, a true smile- not a sarcastic one, or one that was just there to hide the pain. No, a genuine smile. He believed Thomas, he wanted to believe that Newt was happy too. 

They stayed there for a while, simply watching the sun set, watched as the sky flooded a beautiful shade of orange. Newt had always loved to watch sunsets, Minho thought to himself. 

Maybe he was watching this one too.


End file.
